


Break A Sweat

by amscray_punk



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flirting, Gym AU, M/M, Race is a yoga instructor, Spot is a personal trainer, There's no plot here, just shameless flirting i'm sorry, they work together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amscray_punk/pseuds/amscray_punk
Summary: “Maybe you should take one of my classes.”“I’ll take one of your classes when you sign up for a session with me.” Spot shot back, challenge clear in his voice.*This is purely self-indulgent, no plot to be found. Just flirty Sprace for five thousand odd words, yeesh.**Rating for mild profanity and suggestive language/situations.
Relationships: Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 15
Kudos: 76





	Break A Sweat

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii. This happened because I had a craving for some super flirty, handsy Sprace. One day I hope to have the patience to write a long, slow burn fic but, alas. This is what I did instead. There's no plot here, just a couple of idiots who happen to work at the same gym. Oh, and I'm sorry to say that this has almost nothing to do with yoga.
> 
> One more thing: I know Italian Race is a thing, but whenever I write Spot, I always imagine that even though his name is Irish, his mother is Italian, so. Race makes reference to that in this. Ok bye

Race loved his job.

He loved waking up early and grabbing coffee on his way in, savoring the chaotic morning rush of the city. He loved flirting with the girls at the front desk when he clocked in, even though they all knew full well it would never go anywhere. He loved the scent of chlorine that permeated the air in the locker rooms where he stored his things. He loved that he never had to change into work clothes, that he could show up in any combination of athletic wear and be ready for the day – he usually opted for comfy joggers and a tank top. And he _especially_ loved leaning against the doorway to the gym, sipping his coffee and watching the sole occupant – the only other person who would be there this early.

Spot Conlon – known to his clients as Sean, of course – was about halfway through his workout, as best as Race could tell. Spot had worked at the gym for a few months now, and had quickly become one of their more popular trainers. Race had to assume this was due to a combination of his physique – fucking ripped, as Race had so eloquently described him to his roommate – and that whole dark-and-handsome thing. And maybe he was a good trainer too, who knew, but men and women alike flocked to him. All Race knew was that when Spot was around, he had a _really_ hard time keeping his eyes – and lately, his hands – off of him.

By now, Race was rather intimately familiar with Spot’s morning routine, although how aware Spot was of this fact, he wasn’t entirely sure. He was dressed, per usual, in gym shorts and a muscle tank, and Race thanked the gods for yet another chance to ogle his arms. Spot wore no headphones, no music played from the speakers. No, he was focused on his slow, careful movements as he curled huge dumbbells with infuriatingly perfect form. Race pulled his lip between his teeth as he watched, eyes roaming over the way his biceps changed with the movement, the way the veins in his arms stood out against smooth, tanned skin.

“You just gonna watch or you gonna join me?” Spot’s voice startled him, but only for a second. Race smirked; maybe he wasn’t the only one having trouble concentrating. He took a few steps into the gym without taking his eyes off of Spot’s form in the mirror. He took a long drink of his coffee as he looked, eyes sparkling when Spot looked up to meet his gaze.

“I’m good, Spotty,” He waved a hand toward the stack of free weights as he reached them. “Just enjoying the show.”

“C’mon, Racer,” The last part came out in a grunt as he set the dumbbells back on their rack and turned to face him. Race grinned; Spot always called him that. Never Race, never Tony, and definitely never Anthony, like some of his students. Always Racer. He didn’t much care what people called him, but he’d be lying if he said hearing _Racer_ in Spot’s voice didn’t make his heart skip a beat. Spot reached out and brushed his knuckles over Race’s triceps. “You’ve got good definition, I’ll admit, but we can make it better.”

“Don’t try to personal train me,” Race said accusingly, his skin hot where Spot’s fingers had been. “I have my own fitness routine, thank you very much.”

“Oh, do you?” Spot teased, raking his eyes down and back up Race’s lean form. “I didn’t realize stretching counted as a workout.”

“Is that all you think yoga is?” Race asked, holding eye contact as he took another drink of his coffee. It was almost empty now, on its way to becoming merely a prop to keep his hands busy. When Spot shrugged in response, Race gasped, scandalized. “Spot, have you never taken a yoga class?”

“Nope,” he answered, popping the _p_ as he reached for his water bottle. “Got everything I need right here.” Spot gestured to the empty gym around them, which Race knew wouldn’t be empty for long. He narrowed his eyes.

“There’s more to it than just stretching, you know.” He paused, eyes roaming over Spot’s muscular form; Spot caught him, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t exactly shy about checking him out. “You look like you could use a good stretch, anyway.”

Spot’s eyes flashed. “Do I?”

“Yep.” Race emphasized the _p_ as Spot had, earning a smirk. “Maybe you should take one of my classes.”

“I’ll take one of your classes when you sign up for a session with me.” Spot shot back, challenge clear in his voice. Race didn’t break eye contact as he held out his hand.

“Deal. But,” He pulled his hand back slightly, feigning a look of contemplation. “There have to be stakes.” Spot’s eyebrows rose. Race noticed a couple early goers filtering into the gym, and knew he had to hurry. “If you break a sweat in my class, you have to take me to dinner.” Race paused, watching Spot closely for his reaction. They had been doing this song and dance for weeks now, but this was the closest either of them had come to taking it beyond a workplace flirtation. Spot cocked his head, and there was no mistaking the interest in his eyes.

“And?” he prompted.

Race grinned, taking a step closer. He ran his fingertip down the middle of Spot’s chest as he spoke, his voice soft. “And if your session is enough to wear _me_ out, I’ll take _you_ to dinner.”

Spot smirked, catching Race’s wrist with his fingers. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is just a ploy to take me on a date.”

“Oh, it most definitely is,” Race’s heart pounded even as he sounded confident, his fingertips brushing the material of Spot’s shirt as he held his hand there. His eyes lingered on Spot’s, drifting down briefly to his lips before the _clank_ of a machine startled them both. Spot let go of his wrist and Race dropped his hand, swallowing. He raised his eyebrows in question. “So?”

Spot hesitated, mulling over the stakes for a moment before he nodded and held out his hand. Race shook it.

“Deal.”

Grinning, Race hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “I’ve got a class, but I’ll see you later?” Spot nodded. Race winked and turned, heading for the exit.

“Racer!”

He spun around, eyebrows raised.

“When are you free, today?” Race shrugged.

“Check the schedule. I’ll be in the break room during my free time. You can find me there.”

_Check the schedule, you say. God, you idiot._ Race was staring at a text on his phone in the break room an hour later, having just finished with his first class of the day. He’d completely forgotten he’d agreed to cover Charlie’s gymnastics class that morning – a last minute substitution that hadn’t made it to the online schedule. He chewed his lip as he looked up at the clock on the wall. He had five minutes to make it to the gymnastics building, which wouldn’t be a problem, normally. But according to the schedule, Spot had a free period now, too. Which meant there was a distinct possibility he would show up in the break room looking for him, and Race wouldn’t be there. Two more minutes ticked by before Race huffed, pushing his chair back from the table as he stood up in a rush. He was going to be late; Spot would just have to find him later. He threw open the door to the break room, tossing a goodbye over his shoulder as he walked through –

And straight into a solid mass.

“Shit,” His hands came up to brace himself automatically and he felt a strong grip wrap around his upper arms, steadying him. “Sorry, wasn’t looking-“

“So what else is new?” Came the sarcastic reply, and Race realized all at once he’d walked directly into Spot. His heartrate sped up; Spot _had_ been coming to find him. Unable to hide how much the fact pleased him, Race splayed his hands over Spot’s chest, not bothering to come up with an excuse for touching him.

“Listen, I know my schedule says I’m free right now-“

“You trying to get out of your obligation already, Racer?” Spot’s fingers tightened slightly where they still held his arms, and only the threat of getting Charlie in trouble kept Race’s focus on the task at hand.

“God, no,” He said, a little breathlessly. “I’m covering for Charlie right now, I forgot to mention it.” _Because I forgot I’d agreed to do it._ He paused; he was down to one minute if he was going to be on time. “Do you… wanna come with me?” He smirked. “You might learn something.” Spot’s eyes flashed as he absorbed the challenge and he nodded. “Great, but I’m about to be late, so… race ya!” With that, Race took off, and he could hear Spot’s footsteps just behind him as they tore through the halls, ignoring the protests from the front desk as they threw open the front doors, sprinting to the gymnastics building.

Race won, of course, but Spot came in on his heels, hardly out of breath. Race raised his eyebrows at him, impressed.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to keep up like that, Spotty. I know cardio isn’t your favorite thing.”

“I get _plenty_ of cardio, Racer,” Spot retorted, dropping the volume of his voice before he finished his sentence. “I’ll show ya, later.”

“Sean!” Race gasped, teasingly admonishing even as he felt butterflies in his stomach. “There are kids here, watch your mouth.”

As happy as he was to have Spot for company, he had a job to do. Specifically, he had half an hour to wear out a class of toddlers from the daycare so they could take their naps on time. It was no simple task, but it was one that Race felt he was suited for perfectly. The kids were too young for any real skills, but he had a blast leading them through somersaults across the floor and supervised trampoline time. At one point, Spot even helped him set up an obstacle course of sorts, which the kids tore through, laughing and shrieking – exactly as he’d hoped. By the time they all got stamps on their hands, the kids were yawning and stumbling behind their grateful teacher. Race caught up to Spot at the water fountain.

“Just to be clear,” Spot said as Race bent over the fountain. “This doesn’t count as one of your classes.”

“No,” Race agreed, wiping his mouth with the hem of his shirt. He watched as Spot’s gaze caught on the bit of his stomach revealed by the motion. He reached out and touched Spot’s temple, smirking. “Although you _did_ break a sweat.”

“Uh, no shit,” Spot huffed a short laugh. “Supervising a class of three-year-olds will do that.”

“If it’s too much for ya… there’s no shame in forfeiting.” Race sing-songed, grinning when Spot’s eyes flashed again. God, he loved making him do that. “I’ve got plenty of energy left.”

“I’ll bet you do, Racer.” Spot’s voice sounded almost silky in its depth and Race bit his lip a little harder than he intended. The small area by the water fountain felt suddenly twice as small, the air a touch too warm as they stared each other down. Race was beginning to wonder how much trouble he’d get them in if he just shoved Spot against the wall, right there, when a sudden shrill sound shattered the moment. Race jumped in surprise, glancing over his shoulder at the gym before he realized the sound was coming from his pocket. He grabbed for his phone and swiped to ignore the call – it was Jack, who knew he was working, the bastard – and deliberately turned his volume off before slipping it back into his pocket. The exchange forced him to check the time, though, and he realized with a start that his schedule was wide open for the next hour. He cleared his throat, looking up to find Spot watching him. He swallowed.

“What’s your schedule look like?”

Spot dug around in his pocket for his own phone, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Shit, I have a client.” He admitted, dropping his phone back into his pocket. Race thought Spot sounded as disappointed as he felt. But he wouldn’t let that ruin the mood. He jerked his chin toward the door, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Race ya.”

“You’re on.”

It was afternoon by the time Race made it back to the break room. After a quick chat with Charlie outside the door, Charlie thanked him again for covering for him and Race slipped inside. The room was empty, which was typical for this time of day – almost everyone had somewhere to be. He rummaged in the cupboard and grabbed a protein bar, pairing it with a green Powerade from the fridge before he threw himself into a chair at the table. He was tired. His last class had been an advanced one, and he’d only had a chance to wipe the sweat from his face afterward. He leaned back in his chair as he chewed, head falling back and eyes shut. He barely heard the door open.

“Worn out already?”

Race’s head snapped up; he only just managed not to choke. “Me? Never.” He shook his head to punctuate the statement as Spot slid into the chair next to him. He took a swig of his drink, frowning when Spot gave him a _look_ as he did. “What?”

“That’s the worst flavor.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“What’s it even supposed to be?” Spot asked, turning the bottle on the table so he could read the label. “Melon? Ugh.”

“The flavor is _green_ , you uncultured swine.”

Spot sounded surprised by the laugh that escaped him at that. “The flavor is green?”

“Of course,” Race said, as though it were obvious. “It tastes _exactly_ like the color green.”

“How would you even-“

“I just know, okay?” Race grinned and took another long drink, eyes rolling back in faux ecstasy as Spot looked disgusted. “It’s the very essence of the color green. Light, delicious, and refreshing. Helps keep me goin’.”

Spot raised an eyebrow. “So now you need help to get through the day, huh? I thought you had all this energy…” He trailed off, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Race sat up and leaned toward him on his elbows.

“Hey, I’ve taught four classes _already_ today,” He shrugged. “Nothin’ wrong with a little pick-me-up, Spotty. It’s not against the rules.” Spot narrowed his eyes playfully.

“Fine, I’ll allow it. You look like you need it, anyway,” He made a show of looking Race up and down. “Didn’t know you could work up a sweat like that just doing yoga.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Race murmured, holding his chin in his hand as he leaned slightly closer to him. “Yoga can be a full-body workout, you know.” He paused, making sure he made eye contact before he dropped his voice and repeated Spot’s words back to him. “I’ll show ya, later.”

Spot hummed in response, but he wasn’t able to hide the way his jaw tensed as his eyes roamed over Race again. Race watched as Spot checked the clock on the wall before looking back at him.

“Speaking of a full-body workout,” Spot paused, letting the sentence fragment hang in the air between them. Never, in the two years he’d worked at the gym, had Race _ever_ wanted to skip out early on a shift more than he did in that moment. “I have the next hour free, if you’re ready for your session.”

Race bit his tongue to keep himself from spilling his real thoughts and checked the schedule on his phone. He smiled when he looked back up. “I’ve got forty minutes.”

“I can work with that,” Spot smirked. “If you’re up for it.” Oh, so now Spot was challenging _him_? Race drained the rest of his drink and tossed it into the recycling bin from his seat. He pushed off the table and stood, smirking down at Spot.

“You should know by now, Spotty, I’m up for anything.”

“So where do we start, oh great, wise, personal trainer of mine?” Race teased as they entered the gym. He wasn’t sure if it was the sustenance or Spot’s presence that was making him feel giddy, but he had a hunch. He tried not to linger on how good it felt to say the word _mine_ in relation to Spot. Instead he did a little twirl to face him as they reached the free weights Spot had used that morning.

“Normally, I’d say that would be up to you,” Spot replied thoughtfully, stroking his chin as he studied Race – perhaps a bit more intently than was strictly necessary. “But since this is a bit of an… unusual session…” He trailed off, catching Race’s eyes in the mirror. Race raised an eyebrow.

“Careful, or you’re gonna give a guy a complex,” He paused, cocking his head slightly. “You got a problem with the way I look?”

“No.” Spot’s response was immediate and emphatic, sending a surprised, although pleased, jolt through Race. He wasn’t sure how to respond – let alone whether he actually _could_ – but Spot didn’t seem to notice. He stepped closer, making his way around Race in a circle as he spoke. “No, Racer. Your body is… perfect.” Spot’s voice was so low it was almost a growl, and it was affecting Race’s heartrate as he tried to hold still. He gulped; he could detect no sarcasm, nothing but sincerity in his tone as Spot stopped in front of him. It was distinctly harder to hold his gaze from inches away than through the mirror, but Race thought he was up for the challenge. But then, Spot leaned toward him – for one wild moment Race thought he was going to kiss him, right there in the gym, but then he turned his head slightly to speak into Race’s ear. “I just wanna find out what your limits are.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Race breathed; he couldn’t even help it. Spot seemed to have made it his mission to make him falter and, well, he had succeeded. But Race was determined to get him back.

Spot smirked, jerking his head toward the machines. “We’ll start easy. Leg press.”

Race grinned as he followed Spot through the gym; this _was_ going to be easy. Spot didn’t know this yet, but Race had been a gymnast since his youth, and a runner since middle school. His legs were _strong._ He settled onto the machine and waited for Spot to load up the weight. Spot stayed true to his word, sticking with light weight at first. When Race couldn’t even pretend to struggle with it, Spot promptly loaded more weight onto the machine. Race watched him the whole time, his smirk growing into a self-satisfied grin as he watched Spot become more and more impressed – and a little bewildered. Finally, Spot motioned for him to stop and leaned against the machine, eyes narrowed.

“Alright. This can’t just be from yoga. Out with it.”

“Out with what?” Race asked innocently, frowning. Spot swatted at him playfully with a towel. Race laughed, standing up to get out of the machine so he could wipe it down.

“C’mon, Racer.”

Race shrugged. “I’m a gymnast. And a runner,” He added, grinning at Spot’s raised eyebrows. “How do you think I got the name Racetrack?”

“A gymnast, huh?” Race could almost see the wheels turning in Spot’s head, and he was pretty sure he liked the direction they were spinning. “Alright, _Racetrack_ ,” Spot’s eyes were determined now, and Race was sure he was in for it. “Now-“

“Racer.”

“Say what?”

Race paused, biting his lip. “I like it when you call me Racer.” He finished, quietly. He knew he was almost giving Spot the upper hand, but he didn’t like hearing Racetrack come out of his mouth. It was too impersonal. Spot’s eyes softened and he nodded.

“Okay, Racer. Follow me.”

Spot led him back over to the free weights and ran his fingers along them, contemplating. He picked one up, put it back, and selected the next heaviest one before turning around. He held it out to Race, who raised his eyebrows in response.

“What now?”

“Squats.” Spot said as Race took the dumbbell. He didn’t usually do a ton of squats, and when he did, he preferred _slightly_ lighter weight than this, but he certainly wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. He arranged the dumbbell so that it was vertical, held loosely in his hands in front of his chest.

“How many?”

“Many as you can do.”

Race began, going slowly to make sure his form was perfect – half of him wanted Spot to have to touch him to correct it, the other half wanted desperately to impress him. He was definitely feeling the burn, especially after the leg press, but he pushed through. He knew it didn’t actually matter who won, but he was competitive by nature and he _really_ wanted to win. Spot circled him, watching him closely; Race felt his skin warm, although he didn’t know if that was from the exertion or Spot’s eyes on him (yes, he did). Spot stopped behind him, just watching. Race nearly dropped the dumbbell when he felt Spot’s fingers, lighter than he would have imagined, on his hips, adjusting his position ever so slightly. He sucked in a breath; he was almost certain that was completely unnecessary – Spot just wanted to touch him. The realization made his composure slip, just for a moment, and Spot caught his eye in the mirror.

“Tired, Racer?”

“Not yet,” He shot back, a little out of breath. “But you know, if you _do_ manage to wear me out, I might not be able to get dinner tonight.”

Spot chuckled, walking back around him and taking the dumbbell from his hands. He set it back on the rack, casting a quick glance around the gym before he stepped close to him, tipping his chin slightly up to meet Race’s eyes.

“Something tells me you’ll still have plenty of energy,” He murmured, lifting a hand to brush a stray curl out of Race’s eyes. “Besides, I don’t mind ordering in.”

Race was glad Spot had already removed the dumbbell from his grip, or he may have dropped it. The implication behind Spot’s words was clear in his eyes, which Race realized suddenly were much darker than he remembered, and he had half a mind to forfeit, right then and there. But he steeled himself even as his heart pounded from the familiar, intimate way Spot had pushed his hair aside and forced himself to speak.

“What’s next?” His voice came out soft and a little strained. Spot took a half step back, looking Race up and down again.

“What do you usually do for your core?”

“Spot,” Race laughed. “I teach yoga.”

Spot snorted. “That’s it?”

Race kept his eyes on Spot’s face as he lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing his well-defined abs. It occurred to him that Spot had never seen him without a shirt before, as they were always required in the gym, and he absolutely _lived_ for the surprise and barely concealed desire he found in Spot’s eyes as they lingered on his skin. Race dropped his shirt and watched Spot swallow, nodding.

“Alright,” He said, voice a little hoarse. “You can afford to skip a day.”

Race smirked, glancing up at the clock. His heart sunk, just a little. “You’ve got ten minutes to wear me out, Spotty.”

Spot narrowed his eyes at him. “You know, my sessions are usually an hour. I kinda feel like I’m getting the-“

“Short end of the stick?” Race supplied; he couldn’t help himself. A quiet giggle escaped him at the faintly murderous look on Spot’s face, stifled quickly when Spot stepped directly into his personal space again.

“I’m real glad you find that so funny.” Race knew he should have been worried by the threat laced through Spot’s voice, but all he could focus on was how it made his legs feel like jelly; he was fairly sure that wasn’t from the squats. He tried to remember they were at their place of employment, there were other people in the gym around them. Spot smirked. “On the ground, Higgins.”

“Ooh, Higgins, are we now?” Race teased, still feeling brave. Spot’s smirk grew dangerous and Race knew he was screwed.

“Push-ups.” He said simply, glancing at his watch. “’Til your arms give out. Go.”

Race laughed but Spot raised his eyebrows; shit, he was serious. Grumbling under his breath, Race complied. He got through the first several minutes with minimal effort – he was lean, but he was strong – before gravity began to work against him. He pushed through, continuing the steady up-and-down movement even as he slowed; yeah, he was definitely feeling a little worn out. Finally, Spot told him to stop and he laid face down on the mat.

“Y’okay, Racer? Ya look a little tired,” Spot’s voice sounded convincingly concerned, though Race didn’t miss the taunting edge.

“Nah,” He replied, breathless – and knowing he sounded like it. He pushed against the mat one last time and sprung up into a standing position. He stole the towel that laid over Spot’s shoulder and wiped his face with it before slinging it over his own shoulder. “That was a pretty good workout, though, Spotty. What do I owe ya?”

“You owe me twenty more minutes,” Spot muttered, crossing his arms over his chest; the motion accentuated the lines of his upper arms, and perhaps he knew that. Race winked as he began to back toward the exit.

“I’ll try to squeeze you in.”

Race only had two more classes to teach that day. If he were honest, getting through the next one was _rough._ He didn’t have a chance to properly rehydrate beforehand, and he was incredibly grateful it was only a beginner-level class. He spent most of it walking between the mats, correcting form here and there, rather than demonstrating. He’d known, from memorizing his schedule, that Spot wouldn’t make it to this class. It took another glance at his own schedule – which, for some reason, didn’t stick in his brain quite so easily – for him to realize that he was definitely going to win their bet. He waited outside the door, greeting the other students as they came in for his last class of the day. Race’s eyes lit up when Spot finally showed, and he grinned deviously at the shocked look on his face as he read the dry erase sign on the door.

“ _Hot_ yoga? Oh, this is bullshit.” Spot said incredulously. “You have _got_ to be shitting me.”

“Welcome, Spotty,” Race said cheerfully. “Are you excited for your first class?”

“First and last,” Spot grumbled. Race shoved his shoulder lightly, not surprised when Spot didn’t move one single inch. It was like pushing a brick wall.

“Aw, don’t be like that. It’ll all be worth it, in the end.” He promised, leaning in and slightly down to speak in Spot’s ear. “I like Italian, by the way.” With that, he winked and turned to go into the classroom, satisfied in the knowledge that Spot _had_ to follow him.

Spot tried to settle toward the back of the room but Race insisted he move closer to the front, so he could help him out as needed. He checked the thermostat, setting it to a balmy eighty-eight degrees Fahrenheit; most of the other students were regulars, and he knew they could handle it. He called on one of his more experienced students, instructing her to walk them through their opening poses so he could monitor everyone’s form – at least, that’s the excuse he gave her. He knew he had to be professional, in this setting, but Spot _was_ new at this. And Race had been correct earlier, he definitely needed to stretch more, although he was impressed by Spot’s natural athletic ability. He caught on to the poses relatively quickly, even if he was a bit stiff. Still, Race found opportunities to touch him, moving his hips slightly this way, pushing his shoulders down, widening his stance just a touch. And if his hands lingered a few seconds longer than was strictly professional, no one seemed to notice.

Eventually, he had to retake his place at the front of the class, but he almost delighted in it more, knowing Spot’s eyes were on him. He snuck glances at him whenever he could, and he couldn’t hide his grin when he saw the telltale glisten of sweat along Spot’s hairline. Of course he was sweating – it was impossible not to, but they never specified what _kind_ of yoga class he had to take. A technicality, sure, but Race would take it.

Spot lingered when class ended, heading straight to the thermostat and adjusting it back to a tolerable temperature for human life. He stood under the vents, basking in the cold air as the classroom emptied. Race closed the door behind the last student and made his way over to him, a towel draped over his shoulder and another clean one in his hand. He tossed the clean one to Spot, who caught it gratefully, wiping his face.

“That was a dirty trick, Racer. Nuh-uh, don’t even act shocked,” He added, grinning as Race attempted to look offended. “You know what you did.”

“To be fair,” Race said, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. “When we made the deal, I didn’t know this was my last class.” A pause. “I also didn’t know _this_ was the one you’d be taking, but it worked out, didn’t it?”

“Mmm, for you.”

“I dunno,” Race said thoughtfully, stepping up to join him in the blissful air conditioning. “I think this could work for you, too.”

“You think so?”

“Mmhmm,” Race nodded, eyes lingering on Spot’s lips before he looked back into his eyes. “I’d like for it to, anyway.” He paused, unsure – then decided there was no point in hesitating, now. “Is that something you want, too?”

Spot smirked, one hand coming up to brush Race’s wild blonde curls from his eyes again. “I think you know damn well it is, Racer.”

Their proximity, Spot’s low, rumbling voice, the touch of his fingertips against Race’s skin – it all hit him at once. He swallowed, heart jumping into his throat when he felt Spot’s fingers move from his hair and graze down the side of his face, his jaw. “So what are you gonna do about it?” He breathed, hardly believing he had the guts to say it.

Spot didn’t answer, just moved his hand to the back of Race’s neck and pulled him down for a searing kiss that was _weeks_ overdue, and it showed; Race’s hands came up immediately to grip the front of his shirt, dragging Spot roughly against him. All sense of logic and propriety flew from Race’s mind. All he could focus on was the firm pressure of Spot’s soft – _how are they so soft?_ – lips against his, Spot’s grip in his hair, the feel of his strong arm snaked tightly around his waist. After a moment – or maybe several, Race couldn’t be sure – they pulled apart, just slightly. Race dropped his forehead against Spot’s, trying and failing to conceal his labored breathing, the way he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Without the intoxicating movement of Spot’s mouth against his, a distant part of his brain remembered they were at _work_. He swallowed and glanced sideways at the clock; it was nearly six. He looked up, not yet letting go of Spot’s shirt. His voice shook a little when he spoke.

“We should,” Race paused, noting with a flip of his stomach that Spot looked nearly as dazed as he felt. “We should get outta here, there’s probably another class.”

Spot nodded in agreement and Race dropped his hands, bringing one up to run through his hair in a nervous habit.

Spot cleared his throat. “Right, well, I’ve gotta go get cleaned up, anyway.” Race raised an eyebrow. “I have a date tonight, you know. I’d like to give him a chance to see what I look like outside of these clothes.”

“I bet he would like that,” Race reached out and laced their hands together. Spot smirked.

“Well, you are a betting man, so I’m gonna take your word for it.”

They paused at the door and Race turned to face him again. Spot tugged him a little closer before he spoke. “I’ll pick you up at eight?”

Race shook his head no, and Spot only had time to frown in confusion before Race leaned in and kissed him, softer this time. His eyes sparkled when he pulled back, grinning. “Seven. I’m starving.”

Race and Spot left together more often than not, after that. The first time they showed up to work together though, three weeks later, was a bit of an ordeal.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here,” Sarah drawled when they entered, identical coffee cups in hand. She pointed between the two of them. “Is this _finally_ happening? Kath!” Her long ponytail whipped over her shoulder as she turned, gesturing wildly with her hands. “C’mere, quick! Look who’s rolling in at the crack of dawn _together_.”

“Oh, excellent!” Katherine clapped her hands with glee as she approached. She slid into the rolling chair next to Sarah, grinning conspiratorially. “Maybe Race will stop hitting on my girlfriend, now.” Her tone was undeniably territorial, but Race couldn’t help but smile as he slung an arm around Spot, who looked mildly embarrassed, and winked at Sarah.

“Not a chance, Kitty Kat.” Race laughed as he dodged the pen Katherine threw at his head as he and Spot made their way toward the locker rooms. They were nearly to the door when Sarah called after them.

“It’s about damn time!”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, yes, after I posted this I realized I missed the chance to have the thermostat set at eighty-eight degrees, so I went ahead and changed that. Sorry not sorry 😂 and yeah, I also realize that would've been a good title but, c'est la vie


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